


No Atheists In Foxholes

by Devilc



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Military, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spina gives Heffron a bit of badly needed comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Atheists In Foxholes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mlyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlyn/gifts).



> Written for Mlyn. Set during the episode of Bastogne. Because Roe wasn't the only person bereft and hurting.

Fuck, it was cold.

Shit.

It was so fucking cold that the blood.

_(oh dear jesus)_

_(Nope. Not going there. Not going to think about it.)_

But it just kept playing like a movie in Babe Heffron's mind. His friend in the snow, so helpless. The blood. And if he could just 

But he couldn't.

And they had to leave him there. Shouting at him to hang on. That they were coming back.

But they were leaving him to die, and they all knew it.

And, in an incredibly fucking morbid turn, Babe kept wondering if the guy had bled to death or frozen to death, and which was worse. As if that sort of thing could be measured, as if there was some sort of chart you could look "kinds of death" up on. Only, yeah, there sort of was. Babe had seen both. Bleeding to death  bad. Freezing to death  also bad. Both? Worse.

Had to be.

"Yo, Babe."

He looked up. It was Spina, the other medic. He and Roe  they meant well. They could see that what happened to him today was and it wasn't their job. And they just kept hovering around him, checking in. Like he was injured. Like there was something for them to fix.

But it wasn't like there was something to fix. How do you fix "my buddy died and I had _(GodHelpMe)_ a hand in his shitty death"?

Buddy. Yeah. Like that was even a word that began to describe coming up through Toccoa together, and Normandy, and Holland. And just knowing that  _(shit, fuck, Goddamn)_.

It just wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Like anything in this whole fucking war was, right? Like trying to be Spina or Roe right now was fair. Like knowing what you needed to do to save a guy's life, but not even having some basic supplies. _(Or seeing him, just three feet away and all you have to do is stretch out from behind the woodpile and grab him  not going there.) (Deep breath.)_ Heh. Being like Spina and Roe, that would be like him having a gun and no bullets.

Not that he had more than three clips right now. In another day, he might have their across the board insight on hopelessness and futility.

Spina jumped in.

He had a blanket. Oh Dear Jesus God, he had a blanket.

"Here, let's hunker down, okay?"

Spina didn't have to ask twice. The blanket smelled all fusty-musty and Babe had no idea how Spina got it, because it just took about three seconds under it and the cold went from bitter to merely icy, and Babe had no shame at all when Spina threw an arm around him and pulled him close.

Babe knew it was practical. Body heat. And now it was no longer icy cold, just damn cold, and it was the warmest Babe had been in about a week and shit, he started blinking back the tears.

He knew it was just practical, but  Babe hadn't even known it 'til now, but what he wanted more than anything in the world was a hug from Mom. Spina wasn't a damn thing like Mom, but this was near enough to a hug that  fuck it. He needed it. He needed another human touch right now, alright?

So he just gave himself over to it, sucking in great hulking lungfuls of the razory cold air, so grateful for Spina's arm around his shoulder and that hand patting him (there, there) on the chest that there weren't words.

And then Spina's hand hesitantly stroked a little lower.

Babe whipped his head around so quick he could hear his neck bones crack.

"It's  I just want to make you feel good, Babe. You need to feel good right now. It's alright."

Feel. Good.

What was that?

Babe sat, trying to wrap his mind around the concept as Spina unbuttoned and unzipped just enough to get his surprisingly warm now hand down and in and 

 to Babe's amazement it got hard.

And

It was like Happy Birthday, Christmas and the Fourth of July all rolled up into one glorious world shattering thing. It was girlie mags and fishing and a good drunk with your friends and mom's cookies and Easter chocolate all at the same time. It was all the good shit that he hadn't thought about in so long that he had actually half forgotten about it only now it was back  like a freight train doing sixty.

Babe clamped his jaw shut to keep from shouting-singing-screaming this amazing feeling to any body in earshot.

He wanted it to go on all night and into the day.

It probably lasted all of five minutes. With a jerk and a gasp, he surprised himself and spurted all over Spina's fingers, and sat there, bliss-numbed out, as Spina wiped his hand clean on something and buttoned him back up.

Yeah. This was feeling good. He remembered it now. He should feel this way more often.

He hunkered close to Spina.

"You don't  you don't have to return the favor or nothing," Spina murmured in his ear. "It was for medicinal purposes."

"Medicinal purposes," Babe echoed blankly, still feeling all floaty.

"Yeah." And Spina edged in a little more.

Okay.

And it lasted for about 30 minutes, this feeling good thing did. Then reality crept back in around the edges and Babe went back feeling sad. But not quite as shitty as before, mind.

Roe joined them under the blanket about an hour later, and wedged in between them, Babe actually got to feeling warm. Roe pissed Babe off a bit because he never used anybody's nicknames. Always so stiff and formal, like he really didn't want to become one of the guys. Like he didn't want to get to know you any more than he had to.

Then Babe got a good look at his eyes  black pools of sheerest misery  and there weren't enough medicinal purpose hand jobs in the world for that.


End file.
